


Grindstone 3: Sharp Edge

by Grey (grey853)



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Angst, Drama, M/M, Series: Grindstone, h/c
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-11 04:31:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/793987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grey853/pseuds/Grey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Blair's help Jim struggles to overcome personal obstacles that threaten to destroy their relationship.<br/>This story is a sequel to Grindstone 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Grindstone 3: Sharp Edge

**Author's Note:**

> Contans suggestions of childhood sexual abuse. Approach carefully.

## Grindstone 3: Sharp Edge

by Grey

Author's webpage: <http://grey.ravenshadow.net/>

* * *

Author's disclaimer: These guys aren't mine permanently, but not much is permanent anyway.

* * *

"Jim, have you seen my jacket? I left it here last night, and now it's gone." 

Jim washed the bottom of the skillet thoroughly, his mind muddied with details from the Baker case, list of suspects, interviews, crime shots. All the images roamed around, some falling into logical order, some scattered and obscuring his solution. 

"Jim? I asked about my jacket." 

"What?" 

"What's going on, Jim? You've been walking around like a zombie all morning." 

"Just thinking." He ran his hand around in circles, the hard cast iron bottom solid and unyielding. Lifting the skillet to a stream of hot water, he relished the rinsing, the soapy suds washed away. The fresh cleanness of it appealed to him. Messes made for problems and he had enough of those, more than he could handle. 

"Just thinking about what? Why people go to the moon, the state of the economy, the best technique to maintain an erection after your second orgasm. What?" 

Shaking his head, the fatigue weighing at his muscles, he wiped off his hands as he turned. "What is it with you, Sandburg? Why do you always do that?" 

"Do what, man?" 

"Bring sex into everything." He folded the towel before placing it neatly on the rack, his sentinel sense of measuring exact. Everything in its correct place, a keystone to an orderly existence. 

Blair tilted his head, studying Jim's stoic features. "Well, maybe if I ever got any sex, Jim, I wouldn't have to talk about it so much." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Stepping past his guide, Jim started to move quickly down the hall to the bathroom. He needed to get inside and close the door, escape from his own questions. 

"You know exactly what it means, Jim. Where are you going, man? Don't walk away like that." He grabbed the older man by the arm and held on. "Look, I'm sorry. Wait. We need to talk." 

As the older man glared down at the hand on his arm, his partner quickly released him. "I'm going to the bathroom and then to the station. I'm on a case, Chief. I don't want to talk about all this shit right now." 

"You don't want to talk about it ever, Jim. My back's better, but we're both still sleeping alone. You say you love me, but every time I touch you now, you pull away. Jim, I'm a little frustrated here." 

The anxiety in his guide's voice fazed him, softened his heart. "I'm sorry, Blair, I just can't talk about this right now. Maybe tonight, after I've gotten a better handle on this case." 

"The Baker case, right?" 

"Yeah, it's a tough one. In fact, I was kind of hoping you could come down later after classes and help me go through some of the files. I know it's a lot to ask, but I can't seem to figure out the sense of it. I keep missing something." 

"Sure. I can come down around noon. But, Jim, there's always going to be a case, man. We need to talk about what it is that's really bothering you." 

"Not right now, Chief." The underlying tone made a clear warning. His guide came too close, and he needed distance, distance to make thinking bearable. 

"Whatever, man." Trying to hide his disappointment, he shoved his hands deep in his pockets. "I still have to find my jacket. I swear I left it on the hook like always." 

Jim stepped into the bathroom and talked back over his shoulder. "Did you try in your room?" 

"Already did." 

Staring into the mirror, a picture of the leather jacket flashed in his head. "Chief?" 

"Yeah." 

"Try upstairs." 

"Why would it be up there, man?" 

Jim turned on the tap and bent forward over the sink. Cupping his hands together, he brought the cool water upward to splash across his heated cheeks. Strange snapping images played over in his mind, sniffing the leather enhanced with his guide's deep, hypnotic scent, rubbing it up against his chest, between his legs, the slickness of it warming with his touch, thrusting into painful release. 

Blair walked up behind him while he grabbed a towel to dry his face. The young man stood there staring up, very quiet, the rumbled jacket in his hand. "What?" 

"Jim, do you remember taking this upstairs last night?" 

"No, why?" 

"There's a stain on it, man." 

Shit. "Stain?" 

"I guess I wouldn't mind so much if I'd been wearing it at the time, but somehow, it's sort of like sucks, you know. My jacket's having a better sex life than I am." 

Swallowing hard, trying not to vomit, Jim closed his eyes. The heat of humiliation scorched his skin. "I'm sorry, Chief. I swear to you, I don't remember doing that." 

A hand seared his upper arm, the palm more familiar than his own skin. "It's okay. Obviously something pretty heavy is triggering the sleep walking again." 

Risking blindness, Jim opened his eyes slowly, meeting the concerned pair searching his face. "I don't know what that is." 

"Don't you? Jim, when I was in the hospital three weeks ago, I told you I knew there was something you weren't telling me. You still haven't told me why the idea of sleeping with me terrifies you. I know I've been distracted with my back and all, but I'm better. It's time we figured out what to do. Running from it isn't going to work." Motioning a hand to the stained coat, he added, "This pretty much makes that clear." 

"Blair, please. Could we do this tonight? I have to go to work, and I really can't talk about this now. I'm sorry about your jacket. Just wear mine and I'll have yours cleaned or replace it." 

"Jim, I don't give a fuck about the jacket. I love you and there's something really wrong going on. It's getting worse, not better. Ever since you told me you loved me, you've been pulling away. This Baker case isn't helping either. I hate child murders. They make us both crazy." 

"I know, Chief. I've been on edge and I've taken a lot of that out on you lately. I'm sorry. Come on, Blair. Just let me go to work and we'll talk tonight." 

"Promise?" 

"Sure." Jim patted the side of his guide's face lightly and maneuvered his way out past him. 

"Jim, I'm holding you to that, man. I'll see you later at noon then." 

"Sure, Chief." 

Heading out, he heard the sounds from back in the loft, the shuffling of feet, the movement of papers, and then a zipper and moaning. He stopped on the stairway, his hand out, bracing himself against the brick. Listening to the sound of skin pumping skin, the increased breathing and heart rate, the quick pants, his own heat increased. The chant of his name surprised him and he winced as he heard the grunt of coming too fast. He squeezed his eyes shut, ashamed that he'd both invaded his friend's privacy, and that he'd enjoyed it. The heavy ache between his legs taunted him with the indignity of his secret guilt, the shame of his own pleasure. 

Reining in his reaction, he took a deep breath as he stood straighter, shoulders back. He refocused his attention to the job, to the case, away from the temptation of going back upstairs and fucking his partner until neither man had any senses left. Forcing that image aside, he clamped his jaw shut, took out his keys and desperately ran to the safety of the busy chase, the constant motion, the absolute concentration of fitting the world with order within the chaos of the city. Jim Ellison, sentinel, could definitely sprint when he needed to run away from his own mind. 

* * *

"I just don't see the connection. How are we going to place Williams in the picture when he's got an alibi for the time the boy went missing?" 

Jim sorted the gruesome pictures on the table again, moving one from each row, then another. "I think if I go at the woman again, she'd probably cave, Simon. Her account and credibility are shaky at best. When you consider that Williams has a long history at being in the Baker home without the father there, it fits." 

Simon studied the report in his hand more closely, pushed back his glasses and then sat back. "Well, we're not getting anywhere very fast on any other track, so I suppose it can't hurt. The thing is, I talked this guy myself, and he just doesn't strike me as the type of person to do this kind of thing." 

Jim rubbed his mouth harder, his stomach clenching in time with his twitching jaw. He hated this case, the feelings, the gnawing at his gut that echoed the vibrations of terror that hounded him from the moment he walked on the scene. 

His voice stayed even from years of practice. "He's exactly the kind of guy, sir. He's got easy access to the kid because he's friends with the father. Mom's not around. He plays up the buddy-buddy thing, shows the poor kid some attention, and then starts in small, moving up to the harder stuff." 

Simon's intense focus increased at the grim tone. "Jim, are you okay with this? I know it's a hard case. You've been pretty much at it nonstop since last week." 

"I'm fine, sir, but the sooner it's over, the better." 

"I agree. The thing is we've both seen abuse patterns. Most sexual abusers are not going to escalate to murder without some kind of trigger event. But, hell, we don't even have solid evidence that he's the one who molested him." 

"Well, I don't think it's the father. I mean, the man's a prick, but he's basically just too self-absorbed. Didn't see what was happening. Probably too busy selling his fucking insurance." His own vehemence caught him off guard, but he kept going. "Look, I don't know why the killer escalated, but that's not the point. Right now, I just need to find out who the guy is. My money's on Williams. Call it a hunch." 

"And your hunches about stuff like this are usually pretty damn good, too." Simon chewed on his cigar for a few more seconds before he started speaking again. "So, you want to bring in the girlfriend and drill her some more, or hammer down Williams directly?" 

"The girlfriend first. Then if we can put a few cracks in her story, I'll take care of putting Williams away myself." Again the dangerous tenor of the words brought on his captain's close scrutiny. 

"Jim, do I need to consider keeping a closer eye on you for this one, or can I trust you to let the guy live through questioning?" 

"I told you I'm fine, Simon. It's just these kind of cases, you know. I just don't understand how this kind of thing happens. I mean, where are the safeguards? Why didn't anyone notice what was going on?" 

"I can't answer that, Jim. The thing is, you've had these kind of cases ever since you started as a cop. None of this is new." 

"And that's another damn shame." 

"True. You're preaching to the choir on that one, but, you don't usually get this wound up. Is there something else going on that I need to know about? Are you and Sandburg doing okay?" 

Watching the clock run down to zero on a bomb just out of reach would've caused less tension. "Leave Sandburg out of this, sir." 

"Well, hell, Jim, that's a little hard to do." 

"Just do it, sir. I don't want to talk about him or my relationship, especially as a way to tell me I'm fucking up." 

"What?" Shocked, Simon shook his head to process his hearing. "Jim, I never said anything like that." 

Standing, the anger and frustration mixing to flame through his blood, Jim paced the room, his hands up and ready to emphasize his main points. "Anytime I get the slightest bit upset, you bring him into it. I take a little too long to answer, and you ask about Sandburg. I need to go question a suspect and you want to know where the fuck he is. Well, I'm telling you, Captain, I don't need him to make excuses for me, run my life, or to keep my ass in check. I ran my life just fine before, and I can do it again." 

The sudden tense quiet itched like webs on skin. Slowly, Simon eased forward, waiting for Jim's breathing and anxious pacing to slow down. His voice remained calm, almost soothing. "Jim, sit down. We need to talk." 

"I've got a case to work, sir." 

"Jim, either sit down, or you won't have any cases to work." 

"What the hell's that supposed to mean?" 

"It means, I'm close to putting you on an indefinite leave of absence." 

Stopping all movement, Jim stared in disbelief. "There's no reason to do that. I do my job." 

"I know you do your job, Jim. You're the best cop I've ever met. But, I want you to sit down and listen for a minute. You're starting to worry me like you can't even imagine." 

The calmness of the words as well as their message allowed him to pull out a chair and sit instead of throwing it through the glass. He still jerked it back with a lot more force than he intended. He placed both arms on the table, his hands clasped together like one huge fist. "I'm sorry about yelling, Simon. I'm just tired. I haven't been sleeping much." 

"And I take it that's not because you and Blair have made any progress in your relationship." 

"Not hardly, no, sir." Jim stared out the window, his mind not focused on anything specific, simply taking in details of the world, avoiding his own thoughts, just reacting. 

"Jim, a few weeks ago you mentioned some memory flashes from when you were younger. Have you talked to Blair about those yet?" 

"No. I still don't remember enough to even talk about it." 

"You seemed to remember enough before." 

"Simon, look, I know you mean well, but I really can't deal with this here, not with you or anyone else right now. The case needs to come first." 

"Wrong, detective. Jim, look at me, man." 

It took great effort to save his bones from cracking, the shearing force of turning his head painful. Shadowed eyes studied him, watched and grew even deeper, obsidian directed straight to his own blue. "Jim, I've seen you in some very dark places, my friend, but right now, it's about as dark as it gets. These kind of cases can burn out anybody, even a supercop like yourself. Add the pressure you've been under, it's no wonder you've been acting tense. I just need to know that you're not going to break on me." 

"I'm fine, sir." 

"My ass." 

"Very professional comeback, Simon." 

"Jim, I'm your captain, but I'm also your friend. This conversation stretches my limits to both sides. On the one hand, as your captain, I don't want to lose my best man because he doesn't know how to take care of his personal problems and they bleed all over the job. Vise versa, as your friend, I see you hurting and floundering like I've only seen once before." 

"When was that?" 

"Before Sandburg." 

Frowning, Jim nodded. "Oh, yeah, Sandburg the savior again." 

"Jim, just stop that a minute and think. You're the one who instigated this relationship. You're the one who was drinking himself into some kind of trance existence because you needed him. Are you still so afraid that you can't get past whatever's eating you up inside?" 

"Maybe." Jim shifted uncomfortably in the chair, the questions too close to his own to be safe. 

"So, if you're having second thoughts, tell him. Don't drive him away by being a prick. Not only will that destroy your friendship, it'll destroy you." 

"I can survive without him." 

"But do you want to?" 

The casual ease of the question surprised him, but the automatic response didn't. It terrified him. "No, probably not." 

"Then you have to do something about whatever demons you have dancing in your head, Jim. You can let him help or try to do it on your own, but you can't expect him to stick around if you're going to keep acting like you don't want him anywhere near you. He's not going to put up with that shit for long and he shouldn't have to. Don't fuck this up, Ellison." 

"I'm not exactly sure what I should do." 

"Well, I never thought I'd ever say this, but you might try sleeping with your partner." 

Jim heard the familiar voice at a distance and turned all the way around in his seat. Blair's greeting behavior slowed his progress across the bullpen long enough for Jim to ask, "So, you think that's the solution? Sleeping with Sandburg?" 

Simon tapped the ash from the end of his cigar before he answered. "Well, I didn't mean for you to nail him just this second, Jim, but you could at least try to figure out what works for you and what doesn't. The rest could fall in place later. At least don't run away from it." 

Watching Blair walk toward the desk, Jim nodded. "It's time for lunch anyway. He wanted to talk, so we'll talk." Glancing back at the tight lines of his captain's face, he added, "And don't send out the troops if I'm a few minutes late, sir. I guess if I'm honest, if you and Sandburg both think I'm really this fucked up, maybe I should listen." 

"The kid said that?" 

"Pretty much, yeah. Same as you really." 

Simon snorted a little to himself before taking a puff and then talking lightly. "Don't ever get me confused with Sandburg." 

Just as he watched Blair settle into the seat behind his desk, Jim shook his head. "Sorry, sir, but I doubt that's ever going to happen." 

"Good thing. I'm not as patient as he is. Besides, you're not my type either." 

As he started to leave, hand on the knob, he hesitated. "Simon, I'm sorry all this is affecting the job." 

"Jim, go to lunch. The job never ends, but relationships can. The case will be here. Now, go on, some of us have work to do around here." 

Stepping through the door, Jim heard Blair's voice on the phone. "That's great, Sam. So, like we should go dancing or something. When should I be there?" 

Jim couldn't make it to the stairs and out to the garage fast enough. 

* * *

Pulling into Darla Young's driveway, Jim pushed away all personal thoughts. Being in covert ops had trained him to compartmentalize, to make sure that he could turn off those things not directly connected to the mission, and he had a mission. Stepping out of the truck, he took in the front of the house, noting the details, the lack of care to yard work, the empty garbage can tipped over and left there. Cataloging each note for future reference, whether it mattered or not, directly freed his mind from his own worries. 

Knocking on the door, he heard the click of a woman's shoes and the slide of a deadbolt. "Ms. Young, I'm Detective Ellison. We talked before about Tim Baker's murder. I'd like to talk to you again." 

The young woman, about twenty five, blond, casual in appearance scanned the man in front of her. "Yeah, I remember. You think Kenny's involved in little Timmy's death." 

"I didn't say that." 

"Didn't have to, hon. I saw it in those pretty blue eyes." Stepping back, chewing her gum with more fervor, she motioned him to enter. "Might as well come on in. I've got coffee fixed if you want some. I was just getting me a cup." 

"No, thanks. I just wanted to talk about some of the main points of your statement, just to verify what you said." 

"You mean you want to see if I was lying." 

"Could we sit down?" 

"Sure, in the kitchen. Have a seat." 

Jim took the chair closest to the door, his back toward the wall. "So, how long have you known Mr. Williams?" 

"Detective, if you want me to answer every question again, I can do that. I can even type it up if you want. I just don't see the point. Kenny didn't hurt that boy no matter how hard you try to prove it." She poured the coffee into a mug, the gold chain around her wrist dangling down in the light. 

"What makes you so sure?" 

"All he ever talked about was Timmy Baker. He took him swimming and to the gym. He played football and they did wrestling. Kenny bought two full season passes to the Jags game just so he could take Timmy. Does that sound like a man who would rape and kill a little boy? I don't think so. Besides, like I told you before, Kenny was with me on the Thursday when Timmy disappeared. There's no way he could've been with me at the mall and took off with the kid. Couldn't happen." 

Darla reached up in the cabinet and pulled down a bottle whiskey. Screwing off the top, she poured a long shot into the dark liquid, and glanced up to see Jim staring hard at the bottle. "You want a drink, Detective?" 

Startled, Jim shook his head. "No, I'm on duty." He licked his lips, the craving for oblivion growing stronger. The gape of thirst smacked at the back of his mind, a hustler for impossible promise. 

"I won't tell. Besides, one little drink won't hurt. You look like you could use a drink or two." 

"I don't drink." 

"Don't drink? Yeah, well, I don't either, not since last night." She took a deep sip of her spiked coffee, a small smile on her face. 

"What's so funny?" 

"Nothing really. I was just thinking that maybe we could not drink together and maybe have a good time." 

Blushing at the directness, Jim focused on his notepad. "Let's get back to the subject. You say you were at the mall. Was Mr. Williams with you the whole time? I mean, I'll bet you were trying on clothes a lot. Did he stay with you while you changed?" 

Leaning back against her counter, finishing off her coffee, she poured another. She ran a seductive hand down the length of her waist to her hip and then rested it across her flat belly. "What makes you think I tried on clothes, Detective?" 

"You're an attractive woman, one who obviously likes to look her best. Just an observation." 

Her face smoothed to sultry, her lips pouted out. "You think I'm attractive?" 

"Sure. Any man would. I just think that if you were trying on clothes, you'd be doing it for awhile, because there might be quite a selection to decorate a fine body like yours." 

Eyes slightly squinted, she grinned. "God, you're a smooth one." She drank some more and sat down across from Jim at the table. "I know what you're doing. You want me to think Kenny sneaked out while I was trying on those dresses, but why would he do that?" 

Heart revved faster, Jim leaned in. "How long were you busy with the dresses, Darla? Fifteen minutes? Half an hour?" 

Suddenly the coffee mug in her hand took on a great fascination. She couldn't look up. "He was with me, Detective, the whole time except for then. I was in the Designer's Room for about an hour picking out this evening dress for a party. Kenny went on down to the bookstore and the computer place. He was right there when I came out." 

"An hour? Which hour, Darla? This is really important." 

"What does it matter? He didn't do it." 

"Which hour, Darla? I have to know." The words came out charged and tense, each one tighter than the one before. He restrained himself from grabbing the wrist holding the mug, from shaking out the stubborn words he need to hear. 

"I'm not sure exactly, but I think it was between 2 and 3, or somewhere around there." 

Taking a deep breath, Jim pushed back from the table, the unyielding hardness of his muscles tensing down to his very bones. It fit the possible time frame. He had a crack. Now he'd hammer it and Kenny Williams into bloody dust, just like he and every other baby fucker deserved. 

* * *

"Simon, have you seen Jim?" Blair poked his head in the door of the captain's office, his eyes scanning the room. 

"Isn't he with you?" 

"No. I was supposed to meet him down here around noon, but when I got here, I didn't see him." 

Glancing at his watch, Simon frowned and rubbed the back of his head, the worry growing like a wicked ache he couldn't catch. "I was just talking to him about ten minutes ago. He saw you come in and I thought he was going to take you out to lunch. Said he had a lot to talk about." 

Moving into the office, Blair shut the door behind him, the normally cheerful expression solemn instead. "Simon, what's going on?" 

"I'm not sure, but for some reason, Jim took off without stopping to pick you up first." 

"And so, that means what? What were you talking about before he took off?" 

"You mostly, and Jim. I'm sure it's no surprise to you, he's not acting like himself lately." 

"Yeah, you could say that. Has he said anything to you that you could share? I mean, I don't want you to break any confidences or anything, but I'm like really getting frustrated. He won't talk to me about it. Ever since my back got better, I thought we'd work things out, but instead they've gotten worse. He's closed off." 

"Has he been drinking?" 

Blair met the captain's concerned eyes before he shook his head. "No, Simon, he hasn't. I'm not saying he hasn't thought about it, but I haven't seen him." 

"Well, at least that's something." Simon stood up and walked around the desk, chewing on his cigar, his arms folded around his chest. 

"So, why do you think he skipped out on me like that?" 

"Well, what were you doing while you were at Jim's desk?" 

Blair scratched his head with one hand and stuffed the other in a pocket, replaying the events in his thoughts. "I was just sorting through the folders on the Baker case. That's what he said he wanted help with, so I thought I'd get a head start. Then I got this call from Sam from San Fransico. She's doing really great. Said she might be up and walking on her own in a couple of weeks. I told her I ought to fly down and we could go dancing." 

The young man stopped talking, his hand covering his mouth. "Oh, shit." 

"What?" 

"Jim probably thinks I'm on a plane to go see Sam or something. Shit, Simon. This really sucks big time. He probably only heard the last part and jumped to all kinds of stupid ass conclusions." 

Simon twisted his features in confusion. "Why the hell would he do that?" 

"You don't understand. Jim's really jealous of Sam for some reason. Plus he knows how guilty I feel about the accident." 

"Why in the world would you feel guilty? You weren't even driving." 

"Not now, Simon. It's a long story. Anyway, you've got no idea how insecure Jim is about Sam. It's unfounded, but that doesn't matter. He still thinks that I'm going to bail on him any minute and take up with the next pretty woman who goes by, in this case Sam." 

Closing his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose, Simon spoke very quietly. "So, you think he took off just to avoid talking about the whole issue." Taking a deep breath, he settled in with the weight of the conclusion. "If that's true, I've got a pretty good idea where he went. He's working on the Baker case, so he probably took off to go question the girlfriend again. Working the job, he doesn't have to think." 

"Alone? Simon, in this state, he needs back up. He's been distracted like hell lately." 

"Thank you, Mr. Ellison expert. I know that, and if you'll pardon my saying so, this is partly your fault, too. You're the main distraction." 

"I know that, Simon. But it's not just me. There's something else and we have to find out what it is before he gets into some serious trouble. He's walking on a really sharp edge lately." 

"I know that. I just keep praying to God he doesn't slide off and cut his own throat." 

"You and me both, man. You and me both." 

* * *

Jim sat in the truck, his hand at his mouth, teeth buried deep into his fist just short of breaking the skin. Staring up at the house, he watched the windows so much like the windows of his own house. Memories, like trapped ghosts tapping at glass, begged to be admitted to his conscious thought, but he resisted. He needed a clear head, but found his mind fogged over with unexplained emotions and flashes he couldn't afford. 

Stepping out of the truck, he closed the door and checked his belt and gun. He didn't need to call for backup, not with someone like Williams, not for a man who chose helpless children as prey. A coward like that wouldn't put up a fight, wouldn't lift a finger against a man who knew the truth. 

Before he started for the house, the cellphone rang. Tempted not to answer, but too duty-trained not to, he finally opened it up. "Ellison." 

"Jim, where the hell are you?" The words bit his ear. 

"I'm at the suspect's house, sir. His girlfriend told me he could've been free in the right time period. I'm going to pick him up." 

"No, you're not. You're coming back to the station. I'll send a car for Williams. You can question him here, but you're not going anywhere near that man without a witness." 

Anger filtered though and swelled every tissue, but he clamped it back. "Why is that, Captain? I'm right here. I can bring him in." 

"Detective, get back to the station. That's an order." 

"Yes, sir." Shutting the phone, he slipped it back into his jacket. Both hands braced his upper body against the truck, his forehead resting on the wide mirror. The pounding bore at his brain, images swirling even behind the closed lids. Visions swarmed at him, a man's face, rounded and scarred, the lips too thin but curled up in a twisted smile. Sensations invaded his body as hands held him down, a dirty sock stuffed down his throat, gagging back the screams, the bolt of pain firing up inside him. Jim Ellison leaned paralyzed by the fear that held him as a boy while his father's best friend forced him face down into a pillow, spread his legs, and tore him into shredded pieces. Each tiny fragment sparked a fading fire, each hopeful dream of rescue damped out by the darkness swallowing up his very breathing. 

As the strobe of remembered details assailed him, he turned himself to lean his back to the truck. He slid down the side, his knees up, his arms wrapped tightly around his body. The screams raging inside his head wanted attention and all he could do was squeeze his eyes shut and pray that he could keep from falling apart, from flying off into the million pieces shaking up from his center. Explosion of flesh and bone shook up from his gut and rattled though his brain. Forcing himself to move his head, he banged it back, pleased at the hard metal striking resistance as he did it again and again until he could drum away the attack. 

The pain saved him from thinking and that's all he could handle, the pain of his own making. 

* * *

"Jesus, Jim, where the hell have you been, man?" Blair stopped his partner right as he came into the bullpen and immediately added, "What the hell happened to your head?" 

Holding the handkerchief to the back of his scalp, Jim stared into his friend's troubled eyes, his tongue dragging against the words, resistant to taming. "I fell, I guess. I don't remember exactly." 

Using both hands, Blair helped guide Jim to his chair. "You fell? Man, you're bleeding. Shit." Lifting the cloth gently, the blood oozed only slightly, the darkened patch of hair stopping the flow. "Hold on while I get some more towels." 

He no sooner returned than Jim closed his eyes, his senses carved away by the rush of sounds around him, the hum of computers, click of keys, the rush of jabbering voices that he could normally separate, but didn't bother with at the moment. The steady tapping inside his skull mimicked the crisp gnaw of a sharp edge to bony ridges, his eyes sockets aching from the constant buzz of scraping. 

"Here, Jim. Hold this. Simon, get over here." 

Filtering out the noises, he heard the gravely tones of his boss. "Well, hell, Jim, what have you been doing?" 

"I'm sorry, sir. I just needed it to be quiet a minute. Make it all stop for just a minute, Simon." Shuddering, he tried to keep from biting his lip even harder. "Chief? Where are you?" He grabbed hold of the arm still attending the back of his head, and missed the exchange of serious glances above him. 

The captain's voice wavered, slightly unsteady against the heavy air. "Sandburg, take him home. I'll let Brown handle the Baker case for now. Get him out of here." 

"Come on, Jim. Let's go." A comforting arm braced his back and helped him stand while his legs steadied beneath him. The heat from the touch stabilized the tilting of the world, made the lights less frightful, the clashing chaos of voices less of a din. 

"Sandburg?" 

"Yeah, Simon?" 

"Take care of him. Make sure he's okay." 

"You bet." 

* * *

Coming out of Peru he remembered the distance between the ground and the plane being fascinating. His senses drew him to the swirl of air currents that buoyed the wings and zeroed his attention. During the long flight home, his body and his mind slowly disconnected from the loss of tribe, the loss of Incacha his shaman. He recalled the moment exactly when he could no longer see his friend's face at all and the heritage of 18 months disappeared behind a shroud of safety. He'd been staring out the window and the cloud shifted into fog and light, the rainbow prism melting away and falling. 

The snap of twilight brought him back to the present to find himself lying on the couch, a pad still wrapping the back part of his head. The throb no longer quite as strong, his confusion only lasted a heartbeat as he centered his senses on his guide's vital signals. As he shifted on the pillow, he found a hand supporting his shoulder and he locked eyes with the deepest part of his soul's reflection mirrored back from Blair's own. 

"Feeling any better, Jim?" The strain of concern stretched the words near breaking, a much higher pitch than usual. 

"Yeah, a little. Thanks." His throat hurt from the raspy-edged words scratching through the closed muscles. As he sat up, he let Blair support one arm for balance. The dizziness caught him off guard, and for a moment the light narrowed. 

"You okay?" 

"No. Not really." So many words and visions flooded him and he sat perfectly still until he could keep from drowning, his fear like spring rapids churning up his life. A few minutes later another tug at his arm signaled his eyes to try again. A cup filled with yellowish brown water smelling like fresh-cut hay came toward him. "What's this?" 

"It's a special blend tea, Jim. Drink it for your headache." In the other hand he held out some aspirin. "This should help, too. Go on, man. Take it." 

Clumsily he managed to down the pills and sip at the warm liquid. Strangely the flavor reminded him of Peru again, an herbal concoction Incacha served him one night after a border squabble. The sting in his eyes surprised him. It'd been a long time since he'd cried for the loss of his friend, for the loss of the bond that had saved him, and no one else, so long ago. 

"Jim, man, you're scaring me here. What's going on? Can you talk about it at all yet?" 

He put the cup down on the table and repositioned himself on the couch, one leg angled slightly, the other foot on the floor. Making eye contact briefly, he looked away, wallowed in his own sadness but didn't stop breathing. Living continued and the ache in his heart didn't kill him even as he remembered so much of everything he tried so hard to forget. "Chief, I'm sorry about this morning, about this whole business of pushing you away. I've just had a few things going on." 

"That much I figured out." Reaching out, Blair cupped the chin and lifted, his fingers like magic easing away shame. "I love you, Jim. Do you believe that?" 

"Yes. I have to." 

"Then, tell me what you can. What happened today? How did you hurt yourself?" 

"It started a few weeks ago. I started having these flashes come at me." 

"What kind of flashes?" 

"Images of a man touching me, of hurting me when I was a kid." The sharp intake of breath brought his eyes back to Blair. "I'm okay now, Chief. Honest, but I have to tell you what I remembered today. All of it. Just let me get through it. Please." 

"Okay, Jim, but can I at least hold your hand while you tell it?" 

Smiling weakly, he lifted the hand wrapped in his own. "I got there first, Chief." He kissed his guide's palm lightly and then held it to his chest, a way to anchor his heart from failure. 

"After Simon told me to come back to the station, to forget about picking up Williams, I was really pissed. I wanted to hammer the side of my truck in. More importantly I wanted to beat anyone who came near me. Thank god you weren't there, Chief." 

"You wouldn't have hurt me." The confidence glowed in the words like neon. 

"I'd like to believe that, but you didn't see me, Chief. I didn't even see me. All I could fathom was this incredible rage and then all of a sudden I couldn't stand up. I couldn't breathe." He stopped for a moment, the grip of his partner's hand a slight nudge to keep talking. 

"Something happened when I was a kid. I must've been about eight or nine. My father had this business friend of his, a David Sims. He came over lots of weekends and sometimes he'd ask my dad if he could take me to ball games and my dad said yes. I mean, I liked the guy at first. He bought me presents and hot-dogs and things." All around him the shimmer of the air closed in, tighter and tighter, but he pushed it back. He had to say it before he could ever be finished with the ranting in his head. Voice would break its reign, the power of its hold puffed into noisy smoke. 

"One Saturday my dad wasn't home and he came by. I knew I wasn't supposed to go without Dad's permission, but when he asked about going to a football game, I just went. We'd gone before. I was only eight. I didn't even imagine that kind of pain." 

The heart beat beside him raced and he reached up his left arm to draw Blair closer. Resting his head on soft brown curls, he wanted to bury himself forever there, protected from every ugly thing that snaked through the earth, taunting him from his buried past. Instead he just kept talking. 

"He took me to his house, upstairs in a room. I don't remember all the details, but enough. It was his son's room. He let me play with some of models and gave me something to drink. I remember it tasted like pineapples. Maybe that's why I hate pineapple so much. I don't know. Anyway, I got so sleepy and it was so hot, so he told me to lie down." He swallowed hard, controlling the urge to gulp up the air before it could desert him. "I never sleep on my stomach, so when he rolled me over, I started to struggle and call out. He stuffed a sock in my mouth and then held me down. I remember the sound of a belt buckle and zipper as he pressed harder against my neck. Then he climbed on the bed and forced my legs apart." 

"God, Jim." The choked words came with trembling against his chest. 

He rubbed his chin across the top of Blair's head and then gripped his hand harder. "God wasn't anywhere around, Chief." 

"You don't have to tell me the rest, Jim, not if you don't want to." 

"I have to, Blair. I have to finish this, or it'll keep coming at me every time I want to get near you. Can you understand that?" 

"Yeah, I can. This whole thing sucks." 

"Yeah, it does. After he spread my legs, he used his hands first, lots of lubrication, but it still hurt. I bled for a week after that. Sally almost found out, but I told her I'd been fighting at school. When my dad asked about the blood on my sheets and in the bathroom, I told him I'd whipped Johnny Rane in a fair fight and he patted me on the back and went back to work." 

"I knew I couldn't tell anybody the truth, because he said he'd hurt Steven. Besides no one would believe me. They never believed me, Chief. As far as I know a few weeks later, I don't even remember it. Blocked it out completely." 

"And it never happened again?" 

"Not that I know of. I think Sims got transferred to Tokyo that year. I do remember my dad telling me he died of a heart attack a few years later and thinking no more ball games with David. God, isn't it weird what you remember? I remember that just as clearly as anything, and the other never happened until this afternoon. Damn. I hate this shit." 

Once more he closed his eyes while the wave of collaged images passed and then he slowly relaxed. The heat from Blair's body cushioned him, made a wonderful warmth that allowed his own energy to idle and recoup. "You feel good, Chief." 

"I'm really sorry all that happened, Jim. No wonder you shied away whenever I touched you or got uptight at the mention of sex. Your subconscious kicked your ass every time it thought you might be in danger." 

"But I'm not afraid of you, Chief. I love you." 

Blair broke the embrace and shifted to just far enough away to talk while looking at his partner. "On a conscious level you're not afraid, but down below where that wounded eight year old's been hiding, it's a different story. He still thinks that anything with another guy is going to make him powerless, to hurt him like he was before. He's trying to save you from Sims by coming at you when you least expect it." 

"He's a good little soldier, too. Put my lights out this afternoon, Chief." 

Reaching up, Blair gently touched his fingers to the bandage at the back of Jim's head. "What happened?" 

"I wanted the pictures to go away, the words with David's voice to stop coming at me. The only thing I could think to do was to distract myself with the pain." 

"So you what, slammed your head back into something?" 

"I would imagine the truck's going to need body work, Chief. I might just leave it until after another wild car chase or something." 

"Shit, Jim, how can you joke? You could've been really hurt." He tenderly stroked the outside of the bandage and then scooted back up to lean his cheek against Jim's chest. Wrapping his arms around the larger man, his face settled in the center. The warm wetness of tears brought Jim's hands to hold his guide even tighter as his own sight misted over. 

"I'm going to be all right, Chief." 

"God, I love you, Jim. Don't let go, okay?" 

"I won't if you won't." 

As truth nestled and rested against him, he drank in the power of that statement. Thinking back to Incacha, he remembered a late summer night, the rain just ending. His shaman promised a future, a time when his true spiritual leader would find him, rescue him from the questions that sometimes trapped the troubled soul of Enqueri. Confused by his friend's puzzles, he'd stormed off into the jungle, Incacha patiently waiting behind by the fire. 

The panther appeared, blocking his outward path, his black fur a cage for all moonlight. The low growl warned him back, urged him to return, demanded he find and eventually remember the tribal truth. To be whole he needed his guide, the man he held in his arms in the present, the past only nursing his awareness. Holding Blair still tighter, drinking in the salty musk and oil scent of his partner, he floated on the promise of deliverance, a pledge of memory that offered both peace and safety as long as he never let go of the vision. He viewed clearly the knowledge of survival, guide and sentinel must always be bonded, always embraced by the faith of eternity's grace. Hugging his shaman closer, he knew the true blessing of revived hope, the renewed vigor of his spirit growling within him. 

The End 


End file.
